


Practically Purr-fect

by Raindropsonwhiskers



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: "time lords are reverse furries" - bill potts, Angst, Cats, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dr Nyarlathotep, Eldritch Time Lords (Doctor Who), Emotionally manipulative cuddling, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, One Shot Collection, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Outsider, Shapeshifting, The Year That Never Was (Doctor Who), Time Lords But Theyre Really Eldritch Cats, alien linguistics, more detailed content warnings in the chapter summary, shameless fluff, technically, the Doctor knew HP Lovecraft and was Not a fan, theres also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26399362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raindropsonwhiskers/pseuds/Raindropsonwhiskers
Summary: A collection of extremely self-indulgent one shots, all based around the AU of "Time Lords Are Actually Eldritch Cats, The Humanoid Form Is For Convenience" and all that ensues from there. Some will be Doctor/Master, some will be gen, most of them will be somewhat fluffy.
Relationships: Eighth Doctor & Lucie Miller, Eleventh Doctor & Amy Pond, Tenth Doctor & Donna Noble, Tenth Doctor/The Master (Simm), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), Twelfth Doctor & Bill Potts, Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 133
Kudos: 224





	1. Cat Nap(Spydoc)

**Author's Note:**

> Blame the Thoschei Discord server for encouraging this.
> 
> This is marked as complete just because these aren't meant to be read chronologically - they all take place in the same AU, and you can assume that they're all in the same timeline(If I were to write a Three/Delgado one shot, you could assume that it would be canon for all the stuff that takes place later in the show), but they're arranged in the order that I felt like writing them.

Despite the sweltering heat of the Australian outback during the day, once the sun sets, a chill settles over the place like a switch has been flipped. The Doctor can't sleep - she doesn't need to, and even if she did, the fear of the Kasaavin returning would keep her awake - so she stands on the porch of O's house, staring blankly out at the sparse plant life.

"Doctor?" O walks up behind her, leaning against the railing of the porch next to her. "Is everything okay?"

Her first response, the one she would give to her companions, would be to brush his worries away and insist that she just didn't feel tired. But this is O; she's told him things she hasn't told any other human in years, things she could only share over the safety of texting and slipped between memes and pictures of cute cats. She can be slightly more honest with him, at least.

“I’m worried,” she says after a moment. “Don’t want those things to come back and hurt anyone else.” Then, covering the vulnerability, “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

O glances over at her with a wry grin. “Too nervous for that.”

She wishes she could reassure him, promise that she’ll keep him safe, but those promises are hard to keep. If there’s one lesson she’s learned, it’s that one. She can’t protect anyone, and the vigil she’s keeping is more for her own peace of mind than any good she would be able to do if the Kasaavin did return. Perhaps she could ease O’s stress, though, if she can’t do anything else.

“I could help, if you want,” she offers. “Been told I’m a good cuddler. Well, not recently, but you get the idea.”

He looks momentarily confused, before his face lights up. “Do you mean the cat thing?”

Technically, she isn’t a cat. Technically, she’s a Time Lord, and their true forms just  _ happen _ to resemble Earth’s housecats, at least on the four dimensions most species perceive. Technically, the humanoid body she wears is just an extremely compressed version of her extradimensional true self designed for convenience, because it’s very hard to be taken seriously as the Lords of Time Itself when your people weigh about 7 pounds and lack opposable thumbs. Practically speaking, though, she’s a cat, and she’s long since given up on trying to explain otherwise.

“Yeah, I mean the cat thing,” the Doctor says, smiling despite her worry. O always manages to lift her mood. “If you want to, that is.”

“I really, really do.” O laughs a bit. “Most cats don’t like me much, so I’m not sure how much it’ll help, but…”

“Worth a shot, right?” she finishes. “You might want to look away for a sec, though. Apparently the change can be a little weird to watch.”

Obligingly, O closes his eyes, and the Doctor  _ shifts. _ According to some of her companions who’d been bold enough to actually watch, it looks like an optical illusion in three dimensions, simultaneously growing and shrinking, knitting together and unravelling in a way they insisted was quite headache-inducing. Finally, in place of the Doctor’s humanoid form sits a small, pale orange shorthair cat.

After a moment, O opens his eyes again. They go wide as he looks down to see her, and the Doctor knows almost exactly what he’s about to say before he says it. Every human does it, just like they always say the same thing about the TARDIS.

“You’re  _ adorable, _ ” he exclaims.

Coming from him, it doesn’t sound nearly as patronizing or annoying as it does from other humans. O is always a bit of an exception from the baseline of humans, in the Doctor’s experience, and this is no different. He just sounds awed, not mocking.

He kneels down to pet between her ears, and she already feels a purr building deep in her chest. His fingers are warm as he scratches behind her ears. The purr spills out before the Doctor can stop it - not that she wants to - and his eyes go even wider and softer. Then, abruptly, he stands up. The Doctor tries not to be disappointed.

“Right, uh, bed,” O says, sounding a little embarrassed. “Do you- you don’t need me to pick you up, you have legs. Right.”

Bemused, she watches as he opens the door of the cabin and holds it for her. She has no idea what made him so suddenly nervous about the whole thing, but it’s hardly the worst reaction she’s had from a human. Donna had nearly thrown something at her, the first time.

As she pads through O’s cluttered living room, the Doctor is a little bit grateful that her companions opted to sleep in the TARDIS. Apart from the six hours directly after her regeneration, they haven’t seen her in this form, and even those six hours were only because she couldn’t shift back to her human shape while still rebuilding her body. It’s not that she’s been  _ hiding _ it, per se. She just doesn’t want to freak them out, or… remind them of Grace.

With a flick of her tail, she pushes the thought aside. Now isn’t the time to think about Grace, or the fact that this is the first time since that night that she’s been  _ herself, _ or the crushing certainty that if she had just been humanoid quicker she could have saved Grace. Right now, she’s just trying to help O get some rest, because that’s a thing that humans need a lot of.

He leads the way to a small bedroom, just as messy as the rest of his house. The only space not occupied by books, boxes of files, small piles of mechanical parts, or other errata is a path to his bed. If the Doctor were humanoid, she would make a comment about it - she still could, thanks to the TARDIS’ translation circuits, but the old girl is a little finicky about translating Gallifreyan, so she restrains herself to a pointed glance and a questioning, “Mrow?”

“I know, it’s a mess,” O says. He grabs a set of plaid pajamas from the dresser, then blushes. “Er, Doctor, would you mind turning around?”   


It takes her a very baffled moment to remember that human modesty exists even when she isn’t human shaped. She turns and jumps up onto O’s bed while he changes clothing, curling up on the soft purple comforter. It smells like cinnamon and tea, much like O does.

The mattress dips as O climbs in, and the Doctor stands up to move, laying on his chest as he settles. Wide brown eyes meet her own, and he hesitantly reaches his hand out to pet her again. As he runs his hand through her fur, she begins to purr again. O smiles.

Distantly, she realizes that this is the first time she’s purred in this body. Her last self, all long, curly gray fur and clear blue eyes, had had a deep, rumbling purr that Bill insisted sounded like a lawnmower. This time it’s softer, though still fairly loud if her ears are to be believed. A little bit like it used to be when she was younger.

Her eyes begin to slip closed, her tail flicking lazily from side to side as O continues to scratch behind her ears. Eventually his movements stop and his breathing goes slow and deep, and the Doctor opens her eyes to see him asleep. His hand is still resting on her back, fingers curled slightly into her fur. Well, she can hardly leave him right now, she reasons, and lets her eyes close again as she, too, drifts off.

The Master wakes up with a comforting, achingly familiar weight on his chest. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep last night, but somewhere around when the Doctor started purring like she used to at the Academy, his body decided that staying awake to run over the Plan - he’d spent more than enough time on it for it to earn the capital letter - was less important than sinking into the feeling of warmth and safety she always brings. Of course she does; she’s the source of his entire existence, so it’s only natural that she’d make him feel comfortable. That’s certainly the only reason that he can’t bring himself to disturb her as she dozes on his chest. Anything more would be absurd.  



	2. String Theory(Twissy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is actually fluff, I swear! No angst to be found here, just Twelve and Missy being Soft

Lou isn’t, officially, signed up to take the Doctor’s class. Really, nobody is, except most of the physics grad students hoping he’ll take them under his wing - and as a language major, Lou definitely isn’t one of those. But one of her mates had suggested that she go to his lectures anyway, back in her first year, and she hasn’t stopped coming since then.

She’s seen some weird stuff during the Doctor’s lectures, stuff that would get any other teacher fired or at least investigated by the authorities. Stuff like the time he explained time travel, or spent an entire lecture building a working flamethrower and letting volunteers use it, or just brought in his electric guitar and took requests for the entire three hour block. But she doesn’t think she’s seen him bring a cat to class before.

It’s a beautiful cat. It’s got long, silky grey fur and sharp blue eyes that peek out imperiously from the hood of the Doctor’s jacket as he paces the front of the classroom like there’s nothing out of the ordinary. He’s talking about string theory, Lou thinks, though she’s more focused on trying to get a good picture of the cat than on listening.

After about fifteen minutes, someone finally gets the guts to raise their hand. The Doctor stops mid-pace and raises his eyebrows.

“Yes?” He doesn’t clarify who he’s talking to - he never needs to.

“What’s your cat’s name?” the bold student asks. “And can we pet it?”

The Doctor sighs. “Her name is Missy, and she bites.”

Privately, Lou thinks it would be worth it. The cat - Missy - pokes her head out of the Doctor’s hood and makes a sleepy little noise, as if she understood when he spoke her name. After glancing around the classroom, much to the delight of the students, she yawns and then tucks her head back into the mass of grey fur, seemingly content with their adoration.

“Now, if you’ll actually pay attention when I’m speaking...” the Doctor says pointedly. The handful of physics students jump to attention.

Lou does listen to the rest of the lecture. When the Doctor speaks, it’s hard not to; he’s passionate about what he teaches, and it’s clear to see in the way he talks about it. She keeps an eye on Missy though, who occasionally stretches and yawns as the Doctor talks. Once, she reaches out a single dainty paw and pats him on the back of the head. It’s possibly the cutest thing Lou’s ever seen.

As the lecture ends and most people head off to their next class, a few particularly determined students stick around, Lou among them. She doesn’t have any classes for hours, anyhow. They don’t even get a chance to ask before the Doctor answers.

“No, you cannot pet Missy,” he sighs. “She is a menace to society and she will bite you.”

The gathered students groan in disappointment.

“Are you sure?” one guy asks.

“Yes.”

Helpfully, Missy sticks her head up and meows. There’s a moment where the Doctor tries to turn to face her, only to be stopped by the fact that she’s still in his hoodie. He plucks her out, plops her on an empty desk, and watches as she flops over to stare at him disdainfully. Then, to the surprise of everyone, he meows back.

The conversation - it can’t be anything else, Lou is sure of it - continues between the two as Missy makes a disgruntled noise. Several students reach for their phones. There’s an entire Twitter account dedicated to chronicling the Doctor’s weirdness, and this would definitely make it. Plus, it's super cute.

Lou half expects him to stop once people start recording, but he just… keeps going. The part of her that’s still stuck in linguistics mode can’t help but notice that there’s definitely rules and patterns there, and both participants are following them. Maybe he’s just trained his cat for some elaborate prank, which she wouldn’t put past him, or maybe he designed some sort of conlang based on his cat, but either way it’s very interesting. She makes a mental note to ask her advisor if there’s a way she can get away with doing her thesis on it.

Finally, the Doctor stops, after a particularly intense exchange. He turns to glare at the people still standing in an awkward semi-circle around him and Missy.

“Don’t you have other classes?” he asks. “Or student-y things to do? Go on, shoo!”

As everyone finally listens and begins to trickle out the door, one of the obnoxious rich kids tries to pet Missy on his way past. He gets about as far as touching her head when she hisses and he jerks his hand back with a yelp, holding his right hand tightly in his left.

“She bit me!”

The Doctor raises his eyebrows. Rather quickly, the boy realizes he’s not going to get any sympathy, and stomps out with a scowl, muttering under his breath. Once he’s gone, the Doctor turns to direct a disappointed look at Missy.

Lou hears him meow again as she leaves the classroom. It sounds distinctly like he’s scolding the cat, though Missy’s purr in response is definitely unapologetic. Lou shakes her head. She’s probably just hearing things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is meant to imply that Gallifreyan is just Cat Sounds in this AU. Or, at least, the parts that humans can hear sounds Remarkably like cat sounds. By sheer coincidence.


	3. Purrsonal Space(Tensimm)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never thought I would be writing Tensimm fic in the year of our lord 2020, but here I am.  
> This one comes with content warnings, because Simm!Master is just Like That. So, uh, heads up that this chapter contains some serious disrespect of personal boundaries, emotional manipulation, unhealthy power and relationship dynamics, and all those other fun things you should expect from a Tensimm fic set during the Year That Never Was. Please do not read if that will make you uncomfortable!

It feels horribly, wonderfully right for the Doctor to curl up against the Master's side like this, to let him run his fingers idly through thick brown fur, and to lean, just a little, into the touch. The Doctor hates himself for wanting to purr, for wanting to tune out the sound of the Master ordering the deaths of hundreds - probably thousands - of innocent humans and just bask in the feeling of his affection.

He should be fighting back, he knows. He should be trying to bite at those hands, too gentle for the sins that stain them. He should dig his claws past the weave of the suit the Master wears and into his skin until he draws blood. Instead, he just flattens his ears back like he hates this, knowing he isn't fooling the only person who matters.

An indeterminate amount of time - or at least, the Doctor pretends that it is - passes before the Master speaks to him instead of the various underlings that scrabble for the privilege of remaining alive.

"You've been quiet, Doctor," he says, as if he cares. "Is something wrong?"

The Doctor doesn't reply. He could; it would be so easy to speak his mother tongue again, especially to the Master. It would also come too close to truly giving in for how carefully he already treads that line. He's already sacrificed so much of his dignity - as if he's ever had any, when it comes to the Master - and silence is one of the few things he has that he can still keep.

"Fine. Don't answer me," the Master snaps, all pretense of affection gone, his hand tightening cruelly into the Doctor's fur until it stings. "Why don't we go visit your little abomination of a human? I can kill him a few times, you can look all sad about it while I do, and then you can go back to sulking." He grins. "Good times."

Again, the Doctor stays resolutely silent. Watching Jack die is nothing new, now. It's one of the Master's favorite hobbies, and the fact that it makes the Doctor feel horrible certainly plays a part.

The Master stands suddenly, forcing the Doctor to either cling to him or fall to the floor. Yet another reminder of the harsh reality that he's restricted to his true, more feline, form unless the Master chooses otherwise. It's just one more power play, one more petty cruelty. In the end, he chooses to scramble onto the Master's shoulder rather than fall.

Jack dies a handful of times before the Master grows bored of the lack of screaming and leaves again with an air of disappointment. He carries the Doctor as he walks, scratching behind his ears in a spot that, under any other circumstance, would've raised a contented purr.

The Doctor's sense of time helpfully informs him that it's nearly the end of the day, though it hardly matters. The only distinction between day and night now is what kind of torment the Master puts him through. As the Master heads back to his room, the Doctor hopes that tonight isn't one of the nights where he's forced to sleep in some humiliating parody of a cat bed.

Instead, the Master sets him down on the large bed that takes up most of the room. The Doctor doesn't move, just sits there staring down at his paws and the plain black sheets beneath them. Whatever new form of entertainment this is meant to be, he doesn't want to play along until forced.

His extradimensional senses prickle for a moment, a sharp feeling of  _ change _ and  _ unfolding _ in the fabric of reality sending a shiver down his spine. Seconds later, he feels a weight settle onto the bed - far too light for the Master's humanoid form. Curiosity overtaking common sense, he turns to look.

The Master looks back, though no longer with the cold brown eyes of his compressed body; instead, a slitted yellow gaze meets the Doctor's own. The Doctor is the first to break the eye contact, glancing over the Master's true form - he's not seen it this time around, yet, and he can't help the urge to look. Short black and white fur, as the Master usually has, though more of the latter than the former. The few patches of black are thin, like the Doctor's own tabby stripes, forming a nearly skeletal appearance.

After allowing him a moment to look, the Master yawns, showing off sharp teeth in what the Doctor is sure is a subtle threat. Then he steps closer, curls himself around the Doctor, and begins to lick at the Doctor's long fur.

His first instinct is to protest, but he gets about as far as a low growl in his throat when the Master's psychic presence goes from a faint memory to an oppressive force. It blankets itself over the Doctor's will, pressing down and leaving no uncertainty that if he keeps fighting back, things will get unpleasant.

The Doctor presses his ears back with displeasure, but stays still and agreeable. Purring, the Master continues grooming the Doctor's fur, his presence lightening until it's nearly forgettable again.

Slowly, very reluctantly, the Doctor feels himself begin to relax into the touch. It's been - years, decades,  _ centuries _ \- since someone else did this for him, and even longer since it was the Master. The Time War left very little time for such frivolities as grooming, and the Master's long string of stolen bodies meant that, even if the two of them hadn't been at each other's throats more often than not, he wouldn't have been capable of shifting if he wanted to.

Unbidden, a purr slips from the Doctor's chest and into the still tense air of the bedroom. The Master pauses his ministrations, and the Doctor manages to stifle his purr a moment later. A moment too late.

_ "Oh, Doctor," _ the Master sighs, delighted,  _ "you really are desperate, aren't you? All those humans you take, and not one of them can soothe that ache. You really just need your Master, poor thing." _

Hearing Gallifreyan spoken the way it was meant to be, half verbal and half ringing telepathic concepts, makes the Doctor's hearts ache, but he stays silent. The Master digs his claws into the Doctor's side in retaliation, not quite hard enough to pierce skin but certainly enough to hurt.

For a moment, the air in the room goes still and freezing cold as neither Time Lord moves. Then, with an annoyed, derisive sound, the Master goes back to grooming the Doctor. Less gentle than before, but he wants to give in to the affection just the same.

When the Master finishes, the Doctor expects a demand for the favor - if it can be called that - to be reciprocated. Instead, the Master sprawls out on top of the Doctor, gives one last lick to an unruly patch of fur behind the Doctor's ears, and then settles in to sleep. His raspy purr shivers through the Doctor's bones, and there's something very possessive about the way that he twines his tail around the Doctor's own. The deliberate coil of his mind around the Doctor's is even more so.

More than anything, the Doctor wishes he could say that he stayed awake, that he didn't melt into the familiar presence, that he didn't fall asleep quicker and easier than he had since before the Time War. He wishes that he could say he took the opportunity to try to escape or sabotage the Master's schemes, instead of letting the other Time Lord curl around him, mind pressing against his own until, for a moment, he could pretend they were as close as they had been as children. He still could, he supposes; he's always been a good liar when it counts.


	4. Cat Got Your Tongue?(Twissy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of String Theory, featuring zero cats, but a lot of confusion and Missy Being Obnoxious

When Lou’s advisor told her she could do her thesis on training animals to ‘speak’, she had only brought up the Doctor’s weird cat conlang as a joke. Then Mr. Brunn had tilted his head, told her to ask, and said that she wouldn’t be the first student to use the Doctor as part of their thesis. Even then, she hadn’t expected the Doctor to say yes. All of that, however, was much more normal than getting a phone call from a mysterious government agency three days after turning in her thesis paper, because she might have accidentally translated an alien language.

“We’ll be sending someone to talk to you as soon as possible,” the lady on the phone explains, while Lou does a good impression of a stunned fish. “I believe it would be for the best if you waited with the Doctor in his office until then.”

It takes a few seconds of silence for Lou to realize the woman expects a response.

“Um, sure,” she stutters. “I’m not- I’m not going to get arrested for this, am I?”

“Please save your questions for when our representative arrives in an hour,” the woman says, which isn’t reassuring in the least. “Have a lovely day.”

Lou blinks at her mobile as the call ends. All this because she wanted an excuse to see the Doctor's cute cat more often.

The Doctor's office is… weird. Not just because he has a huge blue police call box in the corner, or because some students claim it's haunted - though those play a part. There's something liminal about the place. Something that makes it feel like time is moving by you without ever touching you, something that makes the air taste ancient and heavy. Lou isn't sure how she feels about it, but she's spent a good few weeks in here for her thesis, and it doesn't freak her out too much any more.

This time, when she pushes open the heavy wooden door, she doesn't see the Doctor or Missy. What she does see is a woman in either a genuine Victorian dress or a very good replica, lounging in the Doctor's chair with her feet up on his desk. Lou's never been attracted to, well, anyone, but she has eyes, and this woman is beautiful.

"Oh, hello!" the woman says, waving. Her Scottish accent and sing-song tone give the words a bright tilt that puts Lou a bit off balance. "Lovely to see you again, dearie."

Slowly, Lou blinks. She's never met this woman in her life; yet, looking at her, something does seem familiar. Those sharp, intelligent blue eyes bring to mind-

"Missy, I told you not to put your feet up on my desk," the Doctor sighs, stepping out of a back room.

He doesn't notice Lou, leaning over the woman to grab a sheet of paper off the surface of his desk and then straightening, seemingly about to return to the back room.

"You're being terribly rude," the woman - there's no way she's also named Missy, Lou thinks - pouts. "You haven't greeted your guest."

The Doctor turns, and finally spots Lou standing awkwardly near the door. She waves.

"Oh," he says. "Hello. Are you here about your thesis again?"

"No- I mean, yes. I mean, I'm here about my thesis because some government agency just called me and told me I translated an alien language and they're sending someone to talk to me and they told me to wait in your office," Lou says, managing to fit it all into one breath before she has to inhale sharply.

"Ooh, someone's been clever. And naughty." The woman curls a strand of hair around her finger and grins like a shark. "It's not as if you can do anything with it anyways; without the psychic part, you've only got half a language."

"Tell that to UNIT," the Doctor mutters. He looks back at Lou, really  _ looks, _ like he's staring into her soul for a split second. "Don't worry. You'll be fine."

He says it with the same conviction as when he rattles off some complex equation, scrawling it on the old-fashioned blackboard and explaining how it works, and she can't help but believe him. Wordlessly, she nods.

"Have a seat," he adds, gesturing vaguely around the room. "They're always late."

"No, dear, that's you," the woman corrects.

"Same thing," he says airily, and then he's gone, back to the other room.

Lou sits in silence in the wooden chair against the wall for a while. She flips idly through a few apps on her mobile, sends a tweet to the Doctor's unofficial Twitter asking if anyone's ever seen a strange woman in his office, and makes it about half an hour before she finally breaks.

"Did he name his cat after you?" she asks, looking up at the woman. Her black boots are still propped up on the Doctor's desk.

The woman laughs. "You're adorable. No."

She doesn't proceed to elaborate.

"That's a big coincidence, then," Lou says slowly.

"Yes, it would have to be," the other Missy agrees. Her arms stretch upwards and she yawns. "Is there a point to your little questions?"

"Just curious," Lou mutters.

"Well, you know what they say about curiosity and cats." Missy giggles, like there's some inside joke there that she knows Lou isn't getting.

There's a part of Lou, the part that had grown up reading fairy tales and fantasy stories, that is just a little bit convinced that Missy is some sort of shapeshifter. A cat capable of becoming human - certainly not the other way around, not with the sharpness that glints off her teeth when she smiles - or a fae creature. The logical part of her brain knows that's insane. There's a perfectly good reason why the Doctor has a cat that shares a name with this bizarre woman.

Lou is on the verge of just asking Missy about it, or maybe getting the Doctor, when there's a knock on the door. Three knocks, to be precise, all short and firm. Then, without waiting for an invitation, a man in a black suit steps in, flanked by two soldiers. Missy waves, and the soldiers pull their weapons on her.

"He's not going to like that, you know," she says, the lilt of her voice sliding to deadly serious. "Gets awfully upset when people who aren't him try to kill me."

Both soldiers look a little baffled, not that Lou blames them. The Doctor steps out of the back room again and scowls when he sees the new arrivals. All three of them make motions like they're about to salute, before stopping halfway through.

"Put those things down," he snaps.

If it were any other situation, the speed with which the two soldiers lower their guns would be funny. As it is, it just raises more questions in Lou's mind.

"Ms. Wendle, we are here on behalf of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce to investigate potentially dangerous usage of alien languages," the man in the suit says, turning to face her. "We would like to ask you a few questions."

Lou tries not to panic. "Um. Sure. I swear I didn't know it was an alien language. I just wanted to see if you could teach cats to talk like you can with dogs. I've never even seen an alien, honest!"

Missy laughs again, same as she had when Lou had questioned her. Out of the corner of her eye, Lou sees the Doctor - is he smiling? There's no way he's smiling. By the time she turns her head to look, he's just glowering at the soldiers.

"Be that as it may, Ms. Wendle, we must ask to redact part of your thesis paper," the man says. He smiles, but it looks a little forced. "We would rather this be done willingly."

The way he says that is just ominous enough to make Lou shiver. She doesn't want to consider what would happen if she refused.

"Yeah, sure, I don't mind," she agrees quickly. "But, uh, can you tell me which part?"

For a moment, the man actually looks a little blindsided by the question. Lou blinks, and then his face is carefully neutral again.

"The, ah, the section regarding the translation of…" The man pauses, takes a deep breath, and finishes with, "Cat. Noises."

She laughs, the absurdity of the situation finally overwhelming her fear. "You're kidding."

"He isn't," the Doctor says, at the same time Missy says, cheerfully, "Oh, he's not."

Finally removing her boots from the Doctor's desk, she glances over at Lou and smirks. "You accidentally decoded roughly a quarter of an alien language older than your own species' existence - which is impressive, by the way, you're cleverer than I thought you were. I was sure you were just doing it for the chance to pet a _very_ gorgeous cat."

"Yes. That is… correct." The man nods, still looking slightly wary of Missy. "As I said, if you will allow us to redact that segment of your thesis, then this will be the last communication necessary as long as you do not speak of this to anyone."

"Right. Of course. Sure," Lou says, relief flooding through her. She isn't going to jail, or getting her memory wiped, or anything her mind had conjured up while she was waiting for the government agents to arrive.

With another terse nod, the man in the suit turns and leaves, the two soldiers following him out of the office. The door slams shut behind them, and Lou takes a minute to process everything before turning to the Doctor and Missy.

"You're both aliens, aren't you?" she demands. "Weird- weird cat aliens who think this is funny to do to people!"

"We're not  _ cats _ ," the Doctor protests. "And we didn't do this on purpose."

"It is a bit funny, though," Missy says, still smirking. "You got all flustered and pink when you thought they were going to do something  _ awful _ to you."

The Doctor shoots a disapproving glare at Missy, who seems utterly unbothered. Despite Missy being a person - or, person-shaped - this time, it's a very familiar exchange.

"You know what?" Lou announces. "I'm leaving. I'm going to get very, very drunk and try to forget all of this. I don't want to know more."

With that, she walks out. Whatever is going on with those two and their weird alien hobbies, she is happier off ignorant. Let some other idiot deal with them; Lou is going to a pub. After the day she's had, she deserves it.


	5. Catastrophe(Spydoc)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only one who wishes Ko Sharmus hadn't ruined everything at the end of TTC?  
> Anyways,, have a softer ending to That Scene, featuring cat snuggles and Guilt, and definitely not a blatant excuse to write more Spydoc snuggles later,,

"Look at us," the Master breathes. He meets the Doctor's eyes as she stares up at him - up, and shouldn't that be a victory? Shouldn't that feel like winning, now?  _ Why doesn't it- _ her lips slightly parted. She's barely spoken, barely done more than watch him with empty, still-shocked eyes. Not that he needs a response to keep talking. "I have  _ broken _ you, and created a new race. And now… Now, I shall conquer  _ everything. _ "

That gets a reaction from her, that finally gets a spark of defiance glowing in her eyes. She steps up onto the dais, levelling the ground between them, then still closer. He flinches back - the Cyberium  _ makes _ him flinch back, realizing the threat she poses - and covers it quickly.

She tilts her head. Something sharp flickers across her face. "Was that you or the Cyberium?"

"Doesn't matter," he says quickly. "We're one and the same, now. Come on, Doctor, give me some speech about how you're going to stop me. I know you have one ready."

He wants -  _ needs _ \- her to pull out the grenade he knows is in her pocket. He needs her to make that choice. Either they die together and this all finally ends, or she can't bring herself to do it and he gets to rule the universe; no matter which she chooses, he wins.

For a moment, she looks like she's about to comply, about to start talking about how she can't let him do this, how it's a sacrifice she'll make for the sake of the universe. And then she frowns, looking closer at him.

"Come on!" he snarls. The waiting is killing him, the  _ silence _ is killing him.

"This isn't right," she mutters. "I can't do this. I'm not going to kill you."

A startled laugh tears itself from his throat. "So you're just giving up? Just letting me go? Oh, I really have broken you."

"No." She shakes her head. Her voice is… soft. Softer than he deserves, really. "I'm asking you to stay. Just for a little while."

He should say no. This is a trick, or a trap, or another ploy to try to fix him - they both know how well  _ that _ went last time.

"Please, Master," she adds, barely above a whisper.

Oh, she really knows him too well. The words send a shiver down his spine, and his eyes flutter closed for an instant. Suddenly, the thought of saying no becomes so much more distant. It's not like it'll make any difference in the long run if he stays, after all.

"Fine," he says, trying to sound like he doesn't care. "But this isn't a chance for you to change my mind. It's too late for that."

"I know."

Hazel eyes meet his own, and he catches a glimpse of sadness before it's hidden again. The Doctor is so very good at hiding things, this time around. They always have been.

Cautiously, she reaches out a hand; an inverse of the Boundary, he notes distantly. He takes it, and she lets him pull them both down until they're sitting on the dusty floor facing each other. For a long, heavy moment, that's all they do. She watches him like she expects him to leave at any moment, and he stares at her like she's the sun - too brilliant to look at for more than a second before glancing away, seeing all of her but never fixing on one point for long.

He can't take this, this silence and the single point of contact. Not like this, at least; not in this disgustingly humanoid form that isn't even rightfully his, that was stolen - torn,  _ taken _ \- from her along with the very life he now lives. It makes his skin itch, makes him want to tear it off.

The Master shifts, before he can sink any deeper into that particular spiral of self-hatred. The Doctor makes a tiny noise of surprise, her eyes going wide, but she doesn't join him.

Which, he supposes, is only fair. Tecteun stole the ability to compress herself from the child as well, so it's only natural that the Doctor would feel more comfortable in that form than he does.

His tail flicks irritably as she just  _ sits there, _ not even touching him anymore. This was a bad idea, he should have known better than to agree, she's just going to watch him and-

Her hand lands gently between his ears, scratching lightly behind them. Hesitant, not quite sure, but it's so much better than the awkward  _ nothing _ that preceded it. Part of him, silver and furious, wants to draw back just to see the hurt in her eyes, ruin the moment and watch her  _ break. _ But it's been so long since they touched and weren't trying to hurt each other, and he can't quite bring himself to do it.

Slowly, they both relax as the Doctor continues. The tension coiling in the Master's hearts loosens, the certainty that she's going to try to change his mind fading. 

His body wants to flop over and purr and let her tease the knots out of his fur. His mind points out that the floor is coated in debris and dust from the collapsed architecture, which would be an absolute nightmare to get out later. Not to mention that she could easily take the purring as a sign of something- something more than he intends. He decides to split the difference, and settles onto the Doctor's lap to let her untangle his coat.

The look of shock in her eyes alone makes it worth it. She blinks a few times, like she doesn't believe he's actually there. He's about to say something, and then she runs one hand along his side, tugging gently at the knots.

"I would've thought you cared more about your appearance," she says, eyebrows raised. "You've had long fur before, I know you can groom yourself."

He extends his claws into her leg, just a little. " _ I've been busy. _ "

The Doctor doesn't reply, just pulls another tangle apart. If he was looking, the Master's certain that he would see disapproval writ clear on her face, but he can feel himself growing drowsy, and it's already a struggle to keep his eyes open. He's been running on fumes and spite for… too long. Ever since he regenerated, in a more metaphorical sense, but more literally since he put together his plan involving the Boundary. Splitting his mind in two and absorbing the Cyberium hasn't helped.

The last time he had been this relaxed was, well, with her. Pretending to be human, the Doctor curled up on his chest purring and kneading, falling asleep together. He pushes the memory away; he isn't going to think about how nice that had been, or how much he's missed it since. 

A sharp tug on the fur of his tail jolts him to awareness. He hisses, tucking it closer to his body, and opens his eyes to glare up at the Doctor.

"Sorry!" she yelps. "Didn't mean to do that."

The story of their lives. He's used to accidental pain from her by now. With a sigh, he relaxes again and lets her continue. Her hands are gentler, now, more careful not to disturb him as his eyes slip closed again.

As the Doctor combs her fingers through soft, finally untangled fur, she tries very hard not to think about where she's sitting and who the warm weight in her lap  _ is, _ because if she does, she might lose the last semblance of sanity she's still got. While she had something to do with her hands, she could try to pretend that she wasn't sitting in the remains of her home - not even that, anymore - touching the man who destroyed it like they're still friends. Now, she can't escape that knowledge.

Maybe if she just moves a little bit, she can-

The Master stirs, a quiet "Mrrp?" rumbling up from his chest.

"I'm not getting up, just moving," she says quickly. "My, uh, leg is asleep."

To demonstrate, she scoops him up into her arms and stretches her legs out. It's a nice change from having them bent like she did before, but she quickly realizes a problem. She's either going to have to use one hand to prop herself up, or lay back entirely in the ashes of the Panopticon. There's really no good solution there.

Well, her coat is already covered in dirt and dust anyway. She might as well accept her fate. With a slight sigh, she leans back and sets the Master down on her torso.

Unbothered by her internal dilemma, he curls up and falls back asleep. It's nice, having the weight and pressure on her chest. It would be nicer in her true form, but she doesn't think she can bear to be that open, that  _ vulnerable _ with him yet. Ever. There isn't going to be an eventuality where she could be, because the instant he decides he's done, he's going to leave and conquer the universe and it'll be her fault for loving him too much to stop him.

" _ Stop thinking, _ " he complains, sticking one paw out to tap her on the face. " _ Trying to sleep. _ "

She sighs again, then does what the Doctor does best, and shoves her feelings down. Guilt and self-hatred can come later, once this falls apart. At least for now, she can enjoy it.


	6. Furries, Maybe(Twelve&Bill)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a fun little interaction I couldn't get out of my head, which became a little more sad than intended...

Before meeting the Doctor, Bill thought of herself as a cat person. She liked cats, and she wasn't allergic to them or anything, and she'd always kind of hoped to get one someday.

Then they got captured trying to solve the mystery of the creature in the Thames, and the Doctor had turned into a cat to slip out of the ropes, and Bill had been a little too distracted to comment at the time. Once they got back to St. Luke's, though…

"I can't believe you're a furry," she blurts out, before she thinks better of it.

The Doctor looks at her with the same amount of bafflement as he'd had when she'd tried to explain Vine.

"A… furry?"

"You know, someone who's, like,  _ really _ into pretending to be an animal," Bill explains.

"I'm not a  _ furry, _ " he says disdainfully. "My people just happen to resemble your feline species."

"How are you a human right now, then?" she challenges.

"We compress our extradimensional forms into one that's closer to humanoid because it's convenient. You lot really take your opposable thumbs for granted." He wiggles his hand demonstratively.

"So… you're a reverse furry?"

The Doctor makes a disgruntled noise, but doesn't refute her point. Bill grins, and then an absolutely wonderful idea occurs to her.

"Can you give yourself cat ears?"

He glowers - not really at her, just at the universe at large. "No."

She can tell when he's lying by now, most of the time. He tries to get too serious to hide the fact that he's being deceitful, and it makes it very easy to notice. For all the Doctor's grumpiness, he's not nearly as gruff has he tries to be when he's hiding something.

"You can, can't you!" Bill insists. "Oh my god, can you give yourself a tail?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he snaps.

"I'll ask Nardole for pictures," she threatens.

That makes him stop. "You wouldn't."

They both know that she would. Slowly, the Doctor gives in.

"Yes, alright, I will give myself  _ cat ears, _ " he sighs. "But you are not allowed to take pictures, are we clear?"

She bobs her head eagerly, trying to keep her face solemn and not letting the giddy delight inside spill out. Her professor is going to give himself actual, real, honest-to-god cat ears and she's going to get to see it. It's going to be  _ adorable. _

Seeing him as a cat earlier that day had given her a rough idea of what to expect - grey fur, absurdly fluffy and soft looking, and the general impression of a malcontent mop. Actually seeing the twitching ears pop into existence on the top of the Doctor's head is another thing entirely, though. They're mostly hidden by his hair, but the very tips peek out from his curls.

The noise Bill makes is probably high pitched enough that dogs can hear, but she doesn't care because it's exactly as adorable as she had hoped and she is never going to see anything better than this as long as she lives.

"I  _ really _ need a picture of this," she gasps. "You look so cute."

More glowering, undercut by the sheer adorableness of the ears. "Bill, I'm an alien older than your entire species, I am not  _ cute. _ "

"You are though," she argues. Then pauses. "Wait. Doctor, you brought a cat to class that one time. Can you, like, talk to cats?"

His face does something… weird. It starts off as a grimace, then a bit of a head tilt, and then he presses his lips together in a frown.

"Yes," he says after a moment. "But not for the reason you're thinking. The TARDIS translates for me. Most cats don't really like me, though. Uncanny valley."

"That's the thing with those weird AI-generated faces and the mannequins and stuff, yeah?"

"Close enough," the Doctor agrees.

"But then how come that cat liked you?" Bill asks.

He doesn't reply, making another weird face and trying to pretend that he's focusing on grading essays. The tips of his ears disappear beneath his hair - she can't tell if they're gone or if he's just flattening them back.

She gasps. "Oh-  _ no. _ Was that cat another alien?"

"Absolutely not," he says, which is a sure sign that she's right.

"Can I meet them?" Bill asks. "Are you guys friends? Wait, are you the same kind of alien or are there a bunch of aliens that're cats?"

"No, sort of, yes to both," the Doctor answers.

"Aw, come on!" she pleads, putting her hands on his desk and leaning closer. "Why not?"

"Because Missy is a terrible person and she might kill you," he says, tone flat and unbending.

"You're joking." Bill waits for him to crack a smile. It doesn't come. "Okay, you're not joking. Why're you friends with her if she's that bad, then?"

He glances back down at his desk. "It's complicated. We were friends for quite a while, enemies for even longer, and now… we're trying to be friends again. She's trying to change. I'm trying to help her."

"So you're - what, giving her morality tutoring?" She can't help but be a little incredulous at that.

"Sort of." There's a deep sadness in his eyes that makes Bill kind of want to hug him. "Just… drop it, Bill."

"Right, sorry," she mumbles. It's clearly more sensitive of a topic than she thought.

After a little while sitting in silence, she says, "I do still kind of want to meet her, though."

"Maybe if she's good," he sighs, with a weight to the words heavier than it should be.

Bill stands to leave, then stops just outside the door. "Can I get a picture of you with the ears before I go? Promise not to share it anywhere."

The Doctor looks up and glares, but the safe kind of glare that's mostly him being dramatic.

"Fine."

She beams and pulls out her phone. Oh, this is going to be her lockscreen  _ forever. _


	7. Movie Night(Twelve&Bill)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know I posted a Twelve&Bill oneshot last night  
> I just,, love them

After the incident on Mars, Bill insists on having weekly TARDIS movie nights to catch the Doctor up on important pop culture. Everything from Rocky Horror Picture Show to Bambi to, much to his annoyance, the Alien series. Usually, the night ends something like this:

Bill, sprawled out on the sofa in the TARDIS movie theatre, her legs up on an ottoman and a blanket over them. Nardole, uncomfortably close to her side, hogging the popcorn and whatever alien candy he'd nabbed from the larder. The Doctor, in cat form, curled up on Bill's lap, purring loud enough to drown out the movie.

Tonight, however, there's a slight change from the norm. Tonight, there's an extra person on the sofa, hogging the popcorn.

It had taken  _ days _ to convince the Doctor to let Missy out of the Vault, even for just a few hours. When he finally caved, though, he hadn't seemed too upset about it. More… cautiously hopeful.

He had insisted that they watch something action-y, because he didn't want Missy to get bored; Bill had settled on Ocean's Eleven, figuring that the crime aspect would entertain Missy. Bill was, unfortunately, a bit wrong.

"Just kill him!" Missy shouts, not for the first time that night. She lobs a piece of popcorn at the screen and nails George Clooney's character in the head. " _ Honestly, _ it would be so much easier than this convoluted mess of a plot."

"Did you notice that she gets more Scottish when she's annoyed?" Bill whispers to Nardole, who scowls in response. He had been against the idea entirely, not that anyone had paid attention to his complaints.

The Doctor pats Missy consolingly on the shoulder and seems to be trying very hard to keep a straight face. He tilts his head down and whispers something, then looks up at Bill with one of his 'I've just done something clever' grins.

A moment later, Bill regrets looking in that direction. Her head swims as Missy  _ changes, _ growing and shrinking and folding in on herself and blooming outwards and- and now, there's a fluffy grey cat with Missy's intelligent eyes, sitting up primly on the sofa cushion.

"Sorry about that," the Doctor whispers. "I tried to warn you. You might want to look away now."

If Bill never sees that again,  _ ever, _ it will be too soon. She looks back at the movie. A moment later, the Doctor  _ mrow _ s at her.

He's curled up around Missy, who is still glaring daggers at the movie. After a moment, though, she lays down half-way on top of the Doctor, her head perched on his. Bill really wishes that she could get away with taking a picture without being caught.

It takes another half hour before the Doctor stands up, stretches, yawns, and moves to his customary seat on Bill's lap and the knitted blanket that covers it. Missy looks at him with betrayal in her eyes and makes the saddest little meow that Bill has ever heard.

"You can come too," she offers. "I know you've got the whole Queen of Evil thing going, but I promise I won't be any less scared of you if you do."

She gets a baleful glare in return.

"Seriously! You're very intimidating, I promise," Bill insists.  


Nardole mutters something under his breath about not encouraging her. Perhaps just to spite him, Missy stands up and settles herself onto Bill's lap, sprawling onto the Doctor's back without any consideration for his comfort. He doesn't really seem to mind, though, just flops over onto his side and purrs.

Because Bill is fond of her fingers, and doesn't want to explain how she came to lose them to a medical professional, she refrains from petting Missy, no matter how soft she looks. Missy, however, seems to lack any such consideration for personal boundaries, as she immediately begins licking at the Doctor's fur. Bill feels a little bit awkward about that, and tries to focus on the movie.

By the time the credits roll, both Time Lords - Time Gentry? - are dozing; the Doctor is definitely asleep, and Missy might be. Bill isn't quite sure, and doesn't really know how to check. She does know that she needs to get up, though.

"Do you think you could move them?" she asks Nardole.

He looks at her. "No, don't think so. Move them yourself, why don't you."

She sighs. Of course he would choose today to be petty. "Come on. I've got work tomorrow, and I can't fall asleep like this."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have suggested doing it in the first place," he says snootily, and then stands up and leaves Bill trapped beneath the weight of her inability to move either alien.

"Missy, I'm pretty sure you're awake," she starts, "so if you could move, that would be great."

No response. Both cats stay firmly situated on her lap.

"Please?" she tries.

She could just stand up. It's perfectly possible for her to do. The Doctor would get over it, and Missy  _ probably _ wouldn't be too mad. Nothing is really stopping her.

Bill stays put on the sofa anyways. With a sense of resigned tiredness, she accepts that she's probably going to fall asleep like this and regret it in the morning. At least she's comfy.  



	8. Raggedy Cat(Eleven&Amy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing Eleven and Amy, so... be gentle with me. I just have many thoughts about their friendship in this AU. Enough that I might - this is very hypothetical and will probably only happen once my current longfic is done - write some proper episode rewrites for seasons 5-7a. In the meantime, though, enjoy babie Amelia and the weird cat she found in her backyard

New body. Four legs, two eyes, two ears - on this dimensional plane at least, and goodness knows what's going on with the other ones - and brown fur. Might end up being ginger hair, but they haven't been that lucky yet, so no high hopes there.

Why are the lights flashing? What were they doing before- oh, right! Yes, they were crashing!

The TARDIS spins and jerks wildly, sending them sliding down through the hallway towards what they  _ really _ hope is not the swimming pool. They try to catch their claws in the floor in hopes of slowing their descent, to very little avail.

They do end up in the swimming pool. Then the billiards room, the tertiary shoe closet, the trampoline hall, and finally the library, where they manage to land on a bookshelf and ride out the rest of the tremors as the TARDIS crash lands with a heavy  _ thud! _

Quickly, they begin to scramble back up, apologizing each time they dig their claws into a piece of furniture. They feel awful about it, but they really have no other choice.

Finally, soaked from another trip through the swimming pool, long fur clinging to their skin, they manage to pull themselves out of the console room, up through the open doors. A beam of light nearly blinds them as they shake their head vigorously, trying to clear the fog.

"Oh!" says a small voice. "A kitty!"

They look up, and see a miniature human, a kitten, a larva, a - no, there's a proper word for it. A child, that's the one. A child, with very ginger hair and very big eyes, staring at them with soft delight. She's wearing a nightgown and a little red cardigan and equally red boots. Lots of red, they think.

"I 'spected a person, but a cat's good too," she says, though not to them. "You're all wet, though. Cats aren't s'posed to be wet."

She steps closer, as if to pick them up, and they promptly fall to the ground as one of their hearts decides to take a temporary break from functionality. With a hacking cough, a puff of Artron energy makes its way out of their mouth, dissipating in the cool night air. Oh, they realize, it's night. That explains the stars, then.

"Are you okay?" the girl asks.

They nod, staggering up onto their feet again. That turns out to be unnecessary, as the child promptly picks them up around the middle with both hands. It's hardly the most comfortable way to be held, but they can't find the motivation to wriggle and change it. The flashlight drops to the ground and rolls slightly, beam illuminating the TARDIS and the damp grass.

With slow, deliberate steps, the child turns and heads toward the building - house, they think. The door poses a slight dilemma, which results in an unceremonious shift to being flung over the child's shoulder instead of held like a sack of potatoes. A mild improvement, they suppose.

Inside, they're lugged up a set of stairs, then plopped into a bathtub. Between their wet fur and the chill of the ceramic, they start to shiver slightly. More Artron energy floods their veins in response, a faint golden haze beginning to rise from their fur. The child looks down at them, frowning with concentration.

"Stay there," she orders. "I'm gonna get you a towel."

She turns and leaves, closing the bathroom door carefully. Sure enough, a few seconds later, she returns with a fluffy, pale blue towel. There's a pause as she tilts her head, considering, then she drops the towel on top of him and makes an admirable effort at drying them off. And, for the most part, it works. They purr, rubbing their face against the soft fabric. Dignity is for people who aren't freezing and dripping wet.

"You're very calm about this," the child points out. "I thought cats were s'posed to hate baths. I'm Amelia Pond, by the way. I'm sure you have a name too, but I don't think you can tell me."

Now that she mentions it, they do. They're… the Doctor. Yes, that sounds about right. They - no, still feeling like a  _ he _ this time more than anything - is the Doctor, and he's finding himself quite fond of Amelia Pond.

Once she's done drying him, or rather, once the towel is too wet to be of any more use, Amelia hangs it over the shower curtain and stares at him intently.

"You were sent to fix the crack in my wall, weren't you?" she asks. "By Santa. I asked really nicely, so he sent you."

That doesn't sound quite true, but he doesn't really know enough to conclusively say that it's false. The details of before his regeneration are still fuzzy. So, he nods. At the very least, he can probably help.

"I'm not gonna pick you up again," Amelia informs him. "You're kind of hard to carry. So you're gonna have to follow me."

He nods again, then jumps out of the bathtub. Amelia holds the door open for him as he follows her out, and he only resists the urge to wind around her ankles as they walk down the hall because he doesn't want to trip her.

She walks into a bedroom, then picks him up so that he's roughly at eye level with the long, jagged crack that runs nearly the length of one wall. With her elbow, Amelia pushes a clutter of colored pencils and small toys off of the table pressed against the same wall, then sets him down on top of it so that he can take a closer look at the crack.

"I've asked my aunt Sharon about it, but she just says it's a normal crack," she sighs. "It's not, though. I know it's not."

Leaning his front paws against the wall, he sniffs at the gash. It doesn't go all the way through the insulation, and yet he can feel a faint draft, can smell something metallic and unearthly in the air it pushes out. It makes the fur along his spine rise with apprehension. This isn't right, this isn't natural. This is… like a paradox, but in space; an optical illusion in time. A Möbius strip of causality. Two points that shouldn't be touching, forced together.

"Can you hear anything in there?" Amelia asks. She runs a hand down his back, and he doesn't think she knows she's doing it. "Sometimes, when I'm trying to sleep, I hear a voice."

He hadn't heard anything yet, but he presses one ear to the wall. There's a faint, echoing noise, like metal scraping against metal. Despite the lack of thumbs and his sonic screwdriver, he's grateful that he's in his true form; otherwise, he might not have been able to make out the words.

"Prisoner Zero has escaped. Prisoner Zero has escaped." A low, droning voice, over and over again on repeat. Interesting.

He turns away from the wall, looking at Amelia. He needs - some way to communicate. Telepathy is a bad idea when he's like this, still too new to really control what goes in or out, but otherwise his options are limited. His gaze lands on one of the colored pencils, knocked off the table he now stands on. Well, that should work.

Jumping down to the floor of the bedroom, he grabs a pencil - red, like Amelia's hair and her boots she's still wearing indoors and the tiny little jacket over her nightgown - between his teeth and looks up at her. She frowns, then her eyes go wide.

"You can write?"

He nods. Amelia grins, then grabs a pad of paper off her dresser and puts it on the floor in front of him. It's not easy, per se, but he manages enough to get the idea across.

"P, r, s, n, r, o…" Amelia reads. "Prisoner Zero has escaped - that's what I've been hearing too! But that doesn't even mean anything."

It means that, on the other side of this crack in space-time, there's a prison, and they've lost an inmate. It means that the Doctor is going to have to break a few eggs to make this… he's lost his metaphor, but the point is, he's about to do something very, very stupid.

Back up onto the table he goes, taking care not to knock off the lamp as he lands. He puts his paws up against the wall again and leans closer, as close as he can get. And then he  _ reaches. _

This would be much easier with his sonic screwdriver, he thinks, but he's still freshly regenerated and not quite settled yet, still a little bit wibbly on the boundaries between dimensions; he slips extradimensional limbs under the edges of the crack and  _ tugs, _ like prying apart two magnets stuck together by their own force.

It resists for a moment, physics and logic protesting under the strain of something that treats them more as a courtesy, and then gives in one wrenching collapse, the crack stretching and tearing at the seams until it's open wide. Blinding white light leaks from the edges as the universe fights back against the intrusion, and then it dims until he can see inside, into the greyscale darkness beyond.

Amelia takes a step back, then another. Probably for the best, he thinks. He doesn't want her getting hurt.

Louder, the voice repeats, "Prisoner Zero has escaped. Prisoner Zero has escaped."

"Hello?" Amelia calls. "Is anyone there?"

A massive eyeball appears, staring unblinkingly through the crack in the wall. It flicks from the Doctor, to Amelia, back to the Doctor. Due to a total lack of eyelids, it can't squint, but it does focus unnervingly intently on the Doctor for a moment, before a pulse of white light emanates from the pupil and hits him square in the face.

He hisses, fur rising on his back at the rather rude psychic message shoved into his brains with all the subtlety and elegance of an elephant playing the tuba.  _ "Prisoner Zero has escaped." _ As though he hadn't gotten the hint already. Eyeball darting wildly back and forth, the crack slams itself shut again before he can point out how utterly inconsiderate that was.

"What just happened?" Amelia breathes.

There is no way a colored pencil is going to cut it for that explanation. He needs to be able to shift again, and not only because he  _ really _ wants to see what color his hair is this time. But he's still got a few hours until he's done cooking, done changing and rebuilding and reconfiguring.

He grabs the colored pencil in his mouth and writes, '5 min, b right back', then takes off out of Amelia's room for his TARDIS. He'll get her back up and running, get himself properly orientated, and then come back and explain everything in English. Maybe take Amelia along with him, once she's a little bit older. It's been such a long time since he had a companion that reminded him so much of his granddaughter.

Halfway through her back yard, he worries a little about leaving a child seemingly alone in a house. He shakes his head. She's - what, five? Ten? He's bad at judging ages but she's old enough to talk, so she'll be fine. And it's just going to be five minutes on her end. It'll be fine.


	9. Soap Opera(Ten&Donna)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been like a month since I posted one of these, but in my defense, Whumptober happened. Anyways, enjoy some comfort to the hurt that Midnight brought about, because I'm a sucker for Ten and Donna's friendship

The Doctor tries not to think about Midnight, after he and Donna leave. He calls the head of the resort company and tells them in no uncertain terms to get off the planet before more people die, and then he spends the next twelve hours fixing something under the console that wasn't broken in the first place.

Donna leaves him be, for most of it. She's wonderful like that. She asks him one last time if he's okay, and then goes off to enjoy one of the interstellar soap operas she always makes him watch. He's grateful for the peace and quiet, after… well, after.

Fiddling with the mess of wires and mechanical whatsits that's consumed the underside of the console keeps his still-racing mind occupied well enough that he can pretend to forget the events that happened on that horrible planet. Just focusing on the delicate circuitry in his hands, and not the bone deep panic of not being able to move, to speak, to  _ think _ without that entity twisting it against him; not the urge to shift when everything became too cramped and small and intense, and  _ knowing _ that would only make things worse.

Being too clever, trying to do the right thing, had nearly gotten him killed. He doesn't even want to think about what proving himself to be an alien would have done. Despite that, he can imagine fairly well. The cold, bright white of the diamond plains has burned itself into his memories, still real enough to send a shiver down his spine.

He isn't sure how long he spends staring blankly at the circuit board balancing on his fingertips before he snaps back to awareness, but it's long enough that his joints feel stiff and achy when he finally moves. Maybe he should go find Donna and suffer through a few episodes of awful, contrived drama. It might be relaxing.

Gently, he puts the circuit board back in place and pulls himself out from under the console. The TARDIS moves Donna's favorite sitting room closer to the control room, a gesture he appreciates more than he could say. For a moment, he just stands outside the door, debating whether to shift or not.

If he does, she'll complain about him shedding on her clothes and let him lay on her despite that. A comforting, familiar routine. He could use that, right now.

He pushes the door open quietly, though he doubts Donna would hear it over the sounds of a badly-acted argument about… well, the Doctor isn't quite sure what, but it serves as nice cover while he shifts. Donna always complains that seeing him do it gives her a headache, but doors are much harder without proper fingers, so this is a decent compromise.

The Doctor pads into the sitting room, making a beeline for the comfortable brown sofa Donna's curled up on. A small bowl of the nice Martian chocolates she'd bought a few trips ago is on the cushion next to her, and she's only partly watching the show.

"Hey, spaceman," she says, patting the couch in invitation. "Done messing around with the console?"

He  _ mrrp _ s in confirmation, jumping up onto the couch and curling up against her side. Gently, Donna scratches between his ears, just right to make him melt into a purring puddle of fur.

"If you want to talk about what happened," Donna starts, after a few minutes, "then… you know. I'm here, and I'll listen."

Though he appreciates the sentiment, the wording makes him shiver and stop purring, cutting a little too close to the bits of him torn open by the creature. His claws dig into the couch without his input on the matter, and Donna must notice the change, because she stops scratching for a moment.

"Or we can just sit here and see if Y'vranx's sister is really cheating on her partner with his ex-wife," she offers with a smile.

She's absolutely brilliant, the Doctor thinks as he nods. Somehow, she always knows how to handle his emotions, even - especially - when he doesn't. Her presence and company alone is all he needs right now, and she doesn't push further than that. After a moment, she goes back to petting him, eyes on the colorful drama playing out across the screen.

He's not entirely sure when he ends up in her lap, half-asleep and comfortable for the first time since Midnight, but he's hardly about to complain. His best friend is there, he's safe, and for a little while he can pretend that this moment is going to last forever.


	10. Canary(Twissy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set right during the ending scene of Dark Water, because I have Thoughts about the s8 finale in this AU. This was going to be longer but,, I couldn't figure out how to smoothly segue from this to the graveyard scene, so it's just by itself now

The Doctor needs to stop this. Cybermen are swarming out of the Cathedral, out onto the streets full of people who aren't  _ listening _ as he tries to get them to leave. Don't they see how much danger they're in? Don't they remember the last time Cybermen had flooded the streets of London and nearly brought all of reality crashing in on itself?

He's nearly to the bottom of the steps, still shouting himself hoarse, when he sees Missy - not a droid but a person, a person he feels like he should know, whose identity is just on the edge of his mind - perched on one of the steps, watching him with amusement. She stands, smooths her anachronistic charcoal skirts, catches his eye just so that he can be certain her next words are meant for him.

"I'm sorry everyone!" she calls. "Another ranting Scotsman in the street. I had no idea there was a match on!"

She draws a few laughs, and the handful of people who had seemed close to listening are lost causes once more. He doesn't care; he still needs to try.

"Get away!" he orders. "Go!"

Somehow, Missy's next to him, now, taking his arm and tutting. "Stop  _ shouting, _ love. Stop making a fuss. You're too late. All the graves of planet Earth are about to give birth."

With one hand on each shoulder, she turns him to face Saint Paul's. The grip of her fingers into his arm is tight, and he can feel sharp nails pricking even through the suit he wears.

"You know the key strategic weakness of the human race?" she asks, clearly meant to be rhetorical. "The dead outnumber the living."

He makes himself tear his eyes away from the march of the Cybermen, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. Even with the awkward angle, he can see her smirk, all teeth and neat, blood-red lipstick.

"Who are you?" he asks, voice soft with horror.

"Oh, you know who I am." Nails dig in just a little further. "I'm Missy."

"Who's Missy?"

She sighs. "Please, try to keep up. It's short for Mistress."

Just as effortlessly as she'd made him look at the Cybermen, Missy turns him to face her again.

"Well," she says, as though about to explain something painfully obvious.

Her cold eyes meet his, making sure that he's looking when she  _ unfolds. _ Dimensions tucked neatly away into the shape of a woman unfold into something more, something dark and terrible and familiar. And, on the limited dimensional perception of the humans that surround them like fish unaware of sharks in their midst, that body draped in dark fabric and a mockery of Edwardian sensibilities becomes something else entirely. Perhaps less threatening on the surface - now so much smaller and fluffier - but with sharp teeth and claws and cruelties lurking beneath the surface.

The Doctor figures it out in the same moment Missy speaks, one part self-content purr and one part rich violet thought pressed into his mind.

_ "I couldn't very well keep calling myself the Master, now could I?" _

He recoils in shock, in fear, in some mixture of the two that is much more than the sum of its parts. Missy- the Master- the  _ Mistress _ follows, curling innocuously around his ankles and nearly tripping him as she nudges her head against his leg. If she wasn't who she is, and if he wasn't caught on the knife's edge of terror and relief, it would be affectionate.

She's purring, he realizes over the pounding of his hearts. Then he feels like even more of an idiot than he already does. The world is ending at her hand, and he has no way to stop it, and she has him so neatly in her grasp that he doesn't think he can get out. Of course she's purring.


	11. Teatime(Eight&Lucie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to Eight's audios (and accidentally started with Lucie's stuff instead of Charley's - but I swear I'll get to her too!) and. Somehow this happened.  
> Minor spoilers for the end of the first season of those audios

After finding out that the job she almost ended up working for was really an intergalactic army for hire, and then nearly getting killed because of it, Lucie Miller thought that she was beyond being surprised. And then the Doctor walks into the kitchen of the TARDIS after another near-death adventure and tells her that he's a cat.

Rather reasonably, in her opinion, her first reaction is disbelief. "You're  _ what. _ "

"Well, I'm not  _ really _ a cat, but that's how you humans tend to think of me. Multi-dimensional temporally-fluctuating semi-feliniform just doesn't roll off the tongue as easily," the Doctor says brightly, proving that the phrase can indeed roll off the tongue, if one is determined to make it do so. "Can't believe I haven't told you before now, honestly. I suppose it just hasn't come up."

"What's made it come up now?" Lucie asks, instantly going from bafflement to suspicion. With the Doctor, that sort of comment is  _ never _ as innocent as it seems.

He waves a hand vaguely. "Oh, nothing. I just thought of it, that's all."

Lucie raises an eyebrow and waits. It doesn't take long for him to crumble.

"Alright, alright, I may have accidentally set the TARDIS to update, which  _ might _ have resulted in a brief shutdown of her higher-level facilities, including my dimensional cloaking support." As soon as he sees the look of concern on her face, he continues. "It's nothing dire, really, but I've never been all that good at maintaining this form without it in this body, so I figured I should warn you before-"

And then, with a headache-inducing twisting and pulling and overall strangeness, the Doctor is gone. In his place, when Lucie finishes blinking the bizarre images out of her eyes, sits a fluffy, dark brown cat with very blue eyes and an air of resignation about him.

"I thought you were kidding," she admits, after a moment of somewhat awkward silence. "This is a bit weird."

The cat meows morosely, and somehow manages to sound like the Doctor even without words. Lucie can't help but find it adorable. She's never been much for cats, but she'd also never been much for exploring alien worlds before the Doctor, so…

"Can I pet you?"

The Doctor meows again, though he sounds much more like he's agreeing. Carefully, Lucie kneels and holds out a hand. Almost instantly, he presses his face into her hand, letting her fingers settle behind his ears. When she starts to scratch gently, he might as well melt for how quickly he flops onto the floor.

"You're ridiculous," Lucie points out, though she continues to pet him. "The hoighty-toighty Time Lord, completely useless for some ear scritches."

He purrs at her, and a moment later rolls over, showing an equally fluffy belly. Obligingly, she begins to pet along his side as well.

"Completely ridiculous," she mutters under her breath.

They stay like that for a while, on the green tile floor of the kitchen, until the Doctor finally stands back up and walks a few short steps away. This time, Lucie has the foresight to close her eyes before he does any more of that weird shape-shifter nonsense, though she still gets the unsettling impression of origami with the human form that she'd had when she saw it properly.

"You can look now," the Doctor says. "I'm sorry that I didn't have more time to warn you, or I would have told you to look away. It can be rather… disorientating."

"Eldritch," Lucie muses. "'S proper eldritch, is what it is. Like those Lovecraft books."

"Well, I suppose." He glances away as if embarrassed - as though he's ever been embarrassed about  _ anything _ in the whole time Lucie's known him. "He never did understand when I tried to explain how it all works. That man should never have been allowed to have a cat."

She isn't even surprised anymore. "Oh, of course you know him."

"I know most people," the Doctor replies with infuriating vagueness. "Now, I do think the TARDIS is done updating, so I should really go turn off all those new features I'm sure were added that I'll never need. Enjoy your tea."

The aforementioned tea had rather slipped her mind after her best friend - and  _ god _ that's a bit of a depressing thought, that somehow without her realizing, the Doctor became her  _ best friend _ \- turned into a cat, and is only lukewarm by the time Lucie takes a sip. It still tastes fine, though, and she doesn't want to reheat it, so she drinks it as it is. The Doctor would be aghast if she told him that, she's sure.

Somehow, there's a cat hair stuck to the bottom of the mug when she drains it.


End file.
